The first business day after the old man’s death saw me spending a lot of time on the phone. I kind of hate talking on the phone to begin with, so to clear my head I took Roosevelt out for a walk.
While in the park he started furiously pawing at something in the grass. Upon continuing the walk he would not use his right forepaw; apparently he got stung by whatever he was after.
This naturally occurred at the aphelion of our walk, and I had to carry the damn dog home, where thence he vomited throughout the day. I found his timing poor.
A few nights later, standing in the kitchen, I had a terrible realization: not only would I have to cook my dinner, I would then have to eat what I cooked. So I called a local BBQ restaurant, placed an order, and set out along with Roosevelt.
Exiting with my meal, I saw him raptly sitting at attention, focused on a man eating at one of the outdoor tables. The man asked if he could share some of his brisket with my dog, adding that his late dog had liked it very much.
“Sure,” I said, but also warned that Rosie was a generally ungrateful SOB.
“Aren’t most of us?” the man replied. I thought this wasn’t bad at all for weeknight curbside philosophy.
Accordingly, I wish to record that I have received many kindnesses this summer, and I am indeed grateful. Thank you.
Well, that’s certainly enough of that. The lodestars of this blog are Irreverence & Irrelevance, and, Gentle Reader, we’ll be back to that in short order.